


Lesser Spirits

by sea_level



Series: Extended AUgust [4]
Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Ars Goetia, California, Fast and loose interpretations of demonology, Heaven as a Bureaucracy, M/M, Nick makes it his life's mission to get gatsby to fall in love with him, Road Trip, Seduction, That's right this fic has it all, for the mission of course, i guess that counts as
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:20:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25189330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sea_level/pseuds/sea_level
Summary: Nick's new mission from Heaven is fairly straightforward. The main goal is the normal fare: protect some person named Jay Gatsby, keep him safe, make sure nothing particularly disabling happens to him for a set timeframe.The additional parameters are a little stranger. The first of these is to retrieve the Ars Goetia.The second tells him not to fall in love with Jay Gatsby.
Relationships: Nick Carraway/Jay Gatsby
Series: Extended AUgust [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1811098
Comments: 15
Kudos: 82
Collections: AUgust 2020





	Lesser Spirits

**Author's Note:**

> uh oh it's _definitely_ not 3 am july 5th
> 
> made up a handful of terms. hopefully things should be straightforward. didn't want to leave a legend at the bottom, cause when I wrote one up, it was uh massive. Firmum refers to the mortal realm or whatever as opposed to heaven or hell. derived from firmament and terra firma.

They leave Nicolas in the sanctum to review his marching orders. He needs to remember them perfectly since he can’t bring them with him, but he’s been granted perfect recall for the purposes of this mission, so it shouldn’t be a problem.

On the downside, they haven’t granted him much else. If he pulls off this mission, there’s a good chance he’ll be promoted to whatever’s slightly better than the lesser spirit he is now—he has all of eternity to climb heaven’s corporate ladder—and get a little more inherent power, stuff that they can’t take away. On the other hand, if he fails, there’s a better chance he’ll just be dead. Ugh.

The celestial paper glimmers, floating in the air above his hands.

They’ve given him a name, one Nick Carraway, a little too similar to his own as if they think he can’t learn to respond to anything else. Then again, it’s not like he’s seen any other lesser spirit get better treatment.

His target and protectee is a man named Jay Gatsby, though the paper looks strange under the place where his name was printed. It was as if some original was covered over and this new name was written in its place. Nicolas supposes that if it were important, they would have given him both. Plenty of people assumed new names throughout their lives.

There’s location information. West Egg, whatever that means. New York. 1920s. He’ll be assigned to a neighboring house. There’s more. Gatsby is to be kept alive and functional for the duration of the next two years. Means listed as any. Extra conditions none.

At the bottom, there are two addendums that Nicolas must fulfill. In training, they’re framed, of course, as purely optional, but every lesser spirit knows their existence is on the line if they fail.

The first is “Retrieve the Ars Goetia”. Nicolas winces. Missions in which Demonology is involved are notoriously messy. They rarely send lesser spirits on them, and even then they rarely send anyone solo. However, if the Goetia remains untouched, the retrieval should be simple enough that anyone could do it. The mission isn’t entirely a lost cause yet.

The second is bolded and underlined and looks as if someone had written it several times over to really nail the point home.

“Do not fall in love with Jay Gatsby.”

* * *

It is easy enough to insert himself into Gatsby’s life. The man is more than eager to become friends when he learns that Daisy is Nick’s second cousin, once removed. It doesn’t help that Nick is barely aware of who Daisy is. The knowledge drop he’d received upon arriving had given Nick memories of her, but little more. For all he knows, she could be heaven-sent, like him, just a human, or some other creature altogether.

When Jordan details Gatsby’s infatuation with Daisy—the depths of it, the lengths that Gatsby had gone to garner just her attention—Nick finds it hard to believe that, even if she is human, there isn’t anything supernatural going on.

His visits to the Buchanan mansion yield nothing of the sort, though. Aside from the odd, fuzzy feeling in his head that he attributes to the startlingly white, marble walls, everything seems to be absolutely, unshiftingly mundane. There is such a void of any form of supernatural power that Nick doesn’t know what to make of any of it.

Tom is a brutish fellow, one that Nick isn’t entirely sure what to make of. He has memories of him from college that seem to depict him as volatile and self-serving, and Nick certainly sees these traits in him now, along with some level of newfound carelessness. All of this doesn’t really mean anything though. There are many people alive with all these same traits that have nothing to do with the occult.

The sunlight glints off the silver ring that Tom’s wearing on the middle finger of his left hand, and Nick loses track of his train of thought.

Has he been drinking? He feels like he’s been drinking.

* * *

Gatsby’s a bootlegger.

It’s not difficult to figure out. His strange calls from cities, his endless supply of alcohol, his business connections, his limitless wealth.

The troubling thing about this is that bootlegging is an incredibly risky business, so obviously the best thing that Nick can do for Gatsby’s safety is to put an end to it before he gets caught. The problem is, since bootlegging is practically Gatsby’s only source of income, there’s no easy way for Nick to talk him out of it. How else would he fund the parties that he uses to try to get Daisy’s attention?

He can’t quite just kidnap Gatsby and take him away from the city—he still doesn’t have a lead on the Ars Goetia—but, with regards to the Daisy problem, he’s found that all his potential solutions can be simplified down to just two variants. One, he gets Daisy and Gatsby together, thus making it easier to suspend Gatsby’s bootlegging activities. On the downside, this puts him at direct risk of Tom’s ire.

The other is to make Gatsby fall out of love with Daisy altogether. Plans that fall under this category are the ones that Nick favors, mostly because they give him greater control. That, and if he doesn’t need opulence to impress, it’ll probably be easier to get him to stop bootlegging. It’s a little trickier to achieve it, especially when Gatsby’s so head-over-heels for Daisy and has so few other people in his life that he would consider friends, but Nick’s been thinking about this for months.

First, he’ll try to knock Daisy off the metaphorical pedestal that Gatsby’s constructed in his mind. If Nick can truly make him see that Daisy isn’t the same person anymore, not that little girl that believed in love. That Gatsby’s wealth just isn’t stable enough to attract her to him long term.

And then, if that doesn’t work, at Gatsby’s only real friend, Nick will make Gatsby fall in love with him himself.

The mission had said, after all, that Nick mustn’t fall in love with Gatsby, but it said nothing about if the situations were reversed.

* * *

Nick had felt something odd at the Wilson residence that first time he’d been there with Myrtle, though he wasn’t sure if it was indigestion or something...more.

He stakes out the residence for a few days, when his schedule permits, waiting until both the Mr. and the Mrs. are both out of the house. The second they’re both out, he breaks in and starts looking for anything even remotely suspicious.

Two hours in, having taken far more time than he feels comfortable with, he finds it.

Etched into the wood under the Wilsons’ bed and invisible to the mortal eye is the seal of Sitri, the first true sign of Demonology that he’s been able to find since arriving.

Still, the seal is inert and the Ars Goetia is nowhere in sight which strongly suggests that the person that has taken ownership over it is not one of the Wilsons.

The only connection that Nick has to Myrtle, and, if he has it, that likely means it’s in one of two places.

The first of which is the apartment Tom bought for Myrtle, but when Nick closes his eyes and conjures up the image of the interior, scanning his memories for vacant bookshelves, he finds nothing of value.

The second is the Buchanan mansion, yet when he tries to think of what he’d observed during his last visit there, he remembers that fuzzy feeling in his head, the way that his brain couldn’t seem to stick to anything.

Nick’s not sure how or why that had happened, but that moves Tom up to the top of his suspect list and reiterates the urgency with which Gatsby’s infatuation with Daisy must be eliminated.

* * *

Nick spends the night praying, hoping that one of his messages, a simple request for Clarity, will reach his supervisors. He also sends his Demonology discovery, not really sure what he’s looking to receive.

It would be nice if they sent in reinforcements, though if they did, it would be likely he’d be extracted altogether. Normally he’d be bothered by something like that, but when demons are involved, he’d rather be safe than sorry. If anything, he’d be grateful if they granted him some sort of power so that he could handle the situation a little better. Even just a slight Protection would be miles better than the literal nothing that he has now.

But when he wakes up the next morning, nothing’s changed. He checks everything, scans the celestial airwaves for even a hint of a reply, but Heaven has remained completely silent. They hadn’t even bothered to send a rejection notice. Since time doesn’t exist in Heaven the same way that it does down here on the Firmum, he knows he’s definitely being ignored.

A heavy, sinking feeling settles into the pit of Nick’s stomach. He’s starting to feel like maybe he’s being set up to fail, and when failure means he’ll be wiped from existence, well really how is any of this different from a suicide run.

* * *

Gatsby has filled Nick’s house with flowers in anticipation of Daisy’s arrival. He’s a nervous wreck on Nick’s couch, fidgeting and blathering on about his anxieties and that he hopes that he’ll make a good impression when Daisy arrives.

Nick nods sympathetically, knowing that she never will.

Why would she, after all, when Nick had failed to invite her in the first place?

It hurts, how heartbroken Gatsby looks when the sun sets and she still hasn’t shown up, but it’s necessary.

Nick sits next to Gatsby and slides over until they’re pressed up against each other side to side, reaching his arm around to rub Gatsby’s shoulder gently.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure she just forgot,” Nick says softly, wishing not for the first that he’d been granted some glamour abilities. It’s all on his acting capabilities to pull this off, and he’s not confident. “I’ve known her for a long time, and she does this a lot, especially after getting married to Tom.”

“Yes,” Gatsby replies despondently. “I’m sure that must be it.”

“Do you want me to try again?” he asks.

Gatsby nods. “Please.”

“Alright,” Nick says, “I’ll do that.” He glances up at the clock on the mantle. “You know, it’s late. I wouldn’t mind if you stayed the night instead of making the trek back.”

Gatsby shakes his head. “No, I couldn’t burden you with that, I’ve been here for so long already. I live right next door anyway.”

“At least let me walk you back,” Nick offers. He stands up and offers his hand to Gatsby to help him up. When Gatsby takes it, he squeezes once, comfortingly, and then pulls him up.

“Thank you, Old Sport,” Gatsby says.

* * *

Two days later, having made no attempts to contact Daisy, Nick rings up Gatsby to break the bad news to him over the phone.

“I’m sorry, Jay,” he says. “She said that her schedule’s full ‘til the end of the month. I can call again in two weeks but...”

There’s silence on the other end, but just enough ambient noise to let Nick know that he hasn’t hung up yet. Still, it drags on for too long without a response.

“Jay?” Nick asks.

“No— No, it’s alright,” Jay replies suddenly. He sounds tired. “I do appreciate it, thank you for trying.”

“You know, Jay, I hate to say this, especially about my own family, but I’ve heard things about the people who live on East Egg, that they don’t like to mingle with people from anywhere else, and even if they do, it’s never for anything more than a dalliance. Jay, I know you knew Daisy a long time ago, but I think it’s possible she’s changed, that she’s one of them now.”

Jay sighs. “Maybe,” he says, but it’s obvious he doesn’t believe it. “If I could just see her again, I’m sure she’d remember what we had. I’ll find some other way to get her attention.”

Nick winces. He has a few more tricks up his sleeve, but it’s looking more and more like option two is the only viable option left.

* * *

It’s much harder to break into the Buchanan mansion than the Wilson residence, which is mostly why Nick just doesn’t try in the first place.

It is, however, significantly easier to get himself hired on with the cleaning staff since Tom’s groundskeeper just pays a cleaning service to send whoever’s available. The first time he’s sent out, he ends up just cleaning the kitchen and dining areas which isn’t preferable, but he finishes up quickly and finds a little extra time to dig around that side of the mansion. There isn’t anything there, and, when he nearly bumps into Tom in a place the staff isn’t supposed to be in that particular week, he calls it quits for the day.

He’s called in two weeks later to clean the bed and bath areas. He’s hoping that since these are more private places, he’ll be more likely to turn something up, but even when he picks his way into locked cabinets and secret compartments, he only finds stuff like jewelry and paperwork. On Daisy’s side though, he finds Gatsby’s letters to her. The names have been burned off and the paper is yellowed and too fragile to touch, almost like they’d aged decades in just a handful of years. They’ve obviously been forgotten here, so he leaves them to their fate and moves on.

Before he leaves, he checks under each bed for another seal, hoping they’ll point to something, anything really, but nothing turns up.

* * *

Nick pretends to get piss-drunk and talks Gatsby’s ear off about what a horrible person Tom is, about all the shitty stuff that he’s done. The way he assaults people without second thought. All the affairs that he’s had. The intimidation, the carelessness. And then to hit it home, the way that Daisy defends him, perpetuates and enables these actions.

He even tops it off by detailing how little Daisy seems to care for her child as if it were some accessory or maybe even an iron-on patch for her and Tom’s emotionally failing but socially invulnerable marriage.

He feels a little sick about it, knowing that Daisy’s basically just a pet bird in a gilded cage, but if this won’t color Gatsby’s opinion of her, then maybe nothing will. In Nick’s completely meaningless opinion, it really would be good for Daisy to get the hell out of her relationship, but Daisy’s not his protectee, and it’s not like he’s particularly good at his job in the first place.

He adds a little bit of a sleeping agent into his own drink and makes sure to fall asleep on Gatsby’s shoulder. If this fails and he has to move on to option two, then getting Gatsby to care for him in the physical sense will probably help get him caring for Nick in the emotional sense as well.

* * *

Nick bribes his way into the file room of the New York City Department of Buildings, finds the plans for Tom’s mansion, and memorizes them. He’s pretty sure this wasn’t what his superiors had in mind when they granted him perfect recall, but a lack of creativity never got anyone anywhere in this business.

He mentally marks off the areas that he’s cleaned and checks the rest for viability. In order of likelihood that he’ll be able to get into any of them, the best places to look are probably the attic, the study, and the basement. He knows the attic gets regular cleanings, though monthly at most. The study is a little trickier since the cleaning company tends to assign that section to the same person every time. As far as he can tell, though, no one at the company has even seen the basement, and unless he’s working particularly close to the basement entrance, which happens to be near the study, it’s unlikely he’ll be able to get in on company time.

He’s starting to think his best bet might just be to bribe the cleaning company for the study job and hope that it falls on a day when both Tom and Daisy are out of the house. Anything else, even breaking in, considering the security that Tom has on the place, is just far too dangerous.

He prays that night to be granted Invisibility knowing that he won’t get a response in the morning.

* * *

Gatsby is still hopelessly smitten with Daisy.

Nick scrubs his face and sends one last useless request to Heaven for glamour because he knows precisely nothing about getting people to fall in love.

He supposes there must be some sort of general guidelines. The basics seem to imply fewer clothes, spending more time together, and generally making advances or hints at advances, and all of these Nick can try to implement, but it just doesn’t feel...right.

He could try to make himself to be more like Daisy. Her selling point seemed to be her personality, though Nick doesn’t have a clue if Gatsby likes in men what he also likes in women, if Daisy can even be taken as the grand, shining example of Gatsby’s taste.

He considers his options, reconsiders them, and then considers them again, deciding in the end that maybe he’s just thinking too much. He’ll just have to be around Gatsby and see what happens. He doesn’t want to over-act or be suspicious, so whatever he does will have to be enough.

Except. In order for this method to work, Gatsby’s going to have to think that Nick wants him too. Nick thinks back to that second addendum, the one warning him away from falling in love with Gatsby. It’s a little risky but...he’s never fallen in love before, so, really, how hard can it be to keep it that way?

It occurs to Nick sometime later that perhaps he should have searched Gatsby’s extensive library for the Ars Goetia. In training, he’d been told many times that protectees were not necessarily innocent and sometimes must necessarily be saved from themselves. With all of Gatsby’s extralegal activities and his nigh-impossible dreams, it wouldn’t be hard to believe that a man like him might have tried dabbling in the occult.

That little bit of inherent trust in Gatsby’s occult-related innocence probably should have been a warning sign, except Nick, at the time, hadn’t even considered that he might be getting a little too personally invested in this job right from the get-go.

* * *

Tom's office is large and more academic-looking than he had expected. Still, the books that line the ceiling-high bookshelves have nothing to do with the occult, nor is the Ars Goetia wedged between any of them.

Nick had the opportunity once to hold the Ars Almadel in his hands. It had been wrested from human control sometime in the 18th century by an Eshim two to three rungs above him. Though the text itself contained no functional power, the content within it had reacted slightly to Nick's own sliver of divinity.

Still, that had been in Heaven and on a text about angels. Being in the Firmum searching for the Ars Goetia—a text on demons—might mean he feels nothing at all when in close proximity to it.

So even though he doesn't feel anything through the fuzziness of the mansion, more manageable now that he knows to expect it, he can't really rely on gut instinct. The flip side of that problem is that he can't really afford to check the insides of the thousands of books either.

He spot-checks the best he can, picking books off the shelf at random and flipping through them as he dusts. When he fails to find anything useful, he forces himself to move on.

One of the hidden compartments in Tom's desk contains about five silver rings, like the one Nick has seen him wearing before, the invoice for the order beneath it. It seems like a waste of time to check, but he reads it anyway. Pure silver, custom fit for Tom's hand and to retain maximum comfort. He looks at the cost and winces before putting the invoice back and closing up the secret compartment.

That’s it for the study. Nick glances at his watch and winces. He has just shy of an hour left to check out the basement.

After pulling out his cart to the hallway and checking to see if anyone is nearby, he continues down the hall. The basement door, three down from the study, looks just like any other door in the hallway, but when he opens it up, he’s immediately greeted by a staircase descending down into the darkness.

He turns on his flashlight and grimaces at its short reach. It’s going to have to do—it’s not like he has anything else.

When he reaches the bottom, he can’t really see past the mess of pipes. It looks like a lot of the original piping was poorly designed, and then parts of it had been replaced at random with no regard for organization. It worked if the only goal was to get water and waste where it was supposed to go, but it made the basement hell to navigate.

Nick couldn’t really see Tom taking the time to pick his way through this maze, so much so, that he was really starting to doubt that this was even a viable place to practice much of anything. 

He’s proven wrong when he comes upon a clearing in the pipes. There’s something strange in the air, halfway between supernatural and scent that makes him feel nauseous.

When he casts his flashlight onto the floor, he sees a sort of seal, drawn large upon the floor. The range of the light isn’t large enough, though, to see the whole of it. He checks the ceiling, and, sure enough, there’s a flashlight with a little metal chain hanging down from it.

The room illuminates immediately, and Nick looks down at the seal to identify it, staggering back when he does to get out of the circle. Beleth. Of course. Of course a man like Tom would summon Beleth.

 _This Great King Beleth,_ his perfect recall provides, _causeth all the love that may be, both of Men and of Women, until the Master Exorcist hath had his desire fulfilled._

Beleth’s seal is freshly inert. The confining triangle off to the right is cold to the touch. It’s been hours at least but a day at most since he was last summoned.

The silver ring adorning Tom’s fingers, the backups in his desk, they all make sense now, all necessary to control Beleth.

There’s a rack pressed up against the wall, and when Nick goes to examine it, he finds the final piece, the hazel wand, alongside other occult paraphernalia. Digging through it, his hands stutter over a small journal. Carefully, he picks it up off the rack and flips through it and breathes a sigh of relief. The Ars Goetia.

It’s taken the form of a book this time around, a natural choice considering the time period.

Nick slips it inside his shirt, and then grabs the seal-chalk, adding a few extra flourishes that will render it useless. He hopes that it’s enough to keep Tom from summoning Beleth again.

It’s a little easier to get out of the basement, though not by much, and he nearly trips over a few pipes on the way.

The hallway is blessedly empty when he emerges. He takes a deep breath, snags his cart, keeps his head down, and tries not to get noticed by anyone on the way out.

* * *

Nick hands in his resignation before they can assign him another job. He’ll never go near the Buchanan mansion again if he can help it.

* * *

“I know I don’t have as much money or influence as you, but why don’t you let me take you out to dinner,” Nick asks, digging through Jay’s closet for a tie. He finds a light sky blue one that he likes. “I know this great pizza place, been to it a few times after work.”

“If you’d like,” Jay says, bewildered.

“I would,” Nick says, smiling and presenting the tie to him. Jay blinks at it.

“Come on. You won’t need your jacket,” Nick continues, putting his hands on Jay’s chest so he can get up under the lapels. The jacket falls to the floor.

“Uh,” says Jay.

“There.” Nick loops the tie around Jay’s neck, under the collar of his shirt. It’s pink—the blue tie looks nice on top of it. The colors compliment. Nick knots it for him, pulling a bit to tighten the knot. Jay sways forward when he does.

Jay himself looks a little pink. Good.

Nick bends down to pick up Jay’s suit jacket so he can hang it up in the closet.

* * *

“You’ve got a little—” Nick gestures vaguely to his left cheek.

“Ah,” says Jay, grabbing his napkin and dabbing at the spot. It comes away red with tomato sauce. “I hope you can excuse my impropriety.”

“Nonsense,” Nick says, hiding his smile behind a slice of pizza. “It makes it feel like you’re human too. You know, like the rest of us mere mortals.”

“Mere mortals?” Jay looks like he’s on the brink of laughing.

“You know,” Nick explains. “You’ve got _gravitas_.”

“Gravitas.” Jay snorts and looks off to the side, resting his chin on the palm of his closed fist. A small, private smile peeks out from behind his fingers.

“So, how is it?” Nick asks. “I’m dying to know.”

“It’s good,” Jay says. “I really do appreciate the invite. I’ve never—”

“—been to a place like this for pizza before?” Nick asks.

“I’ve never _had_ pizza before.”

“ _Never?_ ” Nick asks. “It’s a pre-war invention, _surely_ —”

“Never,” Jay says.

Nick laughs in disbelief. “So no pizza in your fairyland castle then?”

“No pizza,” Jay confirms. “And I’d hardly call it a castle.”

“It’s definitely a castle.” Nick grins. “Doesn’t it get lonely in there, just you by yourself?”

Jay shrugs. “I’ve got a few permanent residents.”

“Maybe,” Nick says, “but I’d hardly call them your friends.”

“Maybe so.” Jay lifts a slice of pizza off the platter and carefully places it onto his plate, grabbing his fork and knife so he can cut it up into neat little chunks. “But it is what it is.”

Nick stares at him consideringly. “Does it have to be?”

“Nick,” Jay sighs. “You know why—”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Nick says, waving him off. “Now isn’t the time. Why ruin pizza with bad conversation, right?”

Jay’s eyebrows furrow, and he stares at Nick with some sort of unidentifiable emotion. “Right,” he says, loading a slice of pizza onto his fork and sticking it into his mouth.

* * *

Nick prays to heaven for guidance. It's a useless thing to ask for, really, when he could be asking for access to powers that would make his job a lot easier. All guidance will do, really, will tell him if he's somewhere vaguely along the right path.

They don't reply, because of course they don't, even though Nick's retrieved the Ars Goetia, even though he's turned an impossible mission into an increasingly probable one.

Is there some aspect of the mission that he's failed so egregiously that they've decided both to blacklist him and to risk the Ars Goetia?

The parameters were clear. Protect Jay Gatsby, which he's making progress on, so it can't be that. Retrieve the Ars Goetia, check. And then don't fall in love with him, which he _hasn't_. He would know! And what kind of parameter is that anyway? Is it even something that can be measured or proven?

And really who cares if he does? If by some statistical fluke, Nick happened to fall in love with Jay, then that was no one's problem but his own.

Nick thinks about being blacklisted by Heaven over Love—and really? Love? Heaven’s greatest virtue?—and snorts, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he starts to wonder if they really might.

* * *

Nick arranges more of these pizza dates. They are dates, in any sense of the term, even if Nick’s the only one that will acknowledge them as such.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to go to California,” he says wistfully over such dinner at least two months in.

“That’s quite the train ride,” Jay comments.

“I know.” Nick sighs. “But if I were to find someone to go with me...”

“I was just thinking it was about time you found yourself a nice girl,” Jay replies.

Nick snorts. “I was thinking about you.”

For half a second, Nick thinks he might see interest in Jay’s eyes, but then it’s gone, replaced by something a little more...dampened.

“You know I can’t,” Jay says, looking away in whatever direction Nick supposed Jay must think East Egg is in.

“Aw, c’mon, Jay, don’t tell me that,” Nick says, dropping another slice of pizza onto Jay’s plate even though he hadn’t asked for it. “You’ve been holding less parties, staring at the Buchanan mansion less. _Please_ don’t tell me you’re still so dedicated to her that you can’t even leave New York for a month.”

“Nick...” Jay starts.

“Jay!” Nick protests. He reaches across the table and rests both his hands on Jay’s own, his thumb rubbing gently over the back of Jay’s hand.

Jay’s eyes flutter shut. “Fine,” Jay says, sounding a little defeated but not altogether disappointed. Warmth flutters in Nick’s heart. _The plan is working._

“Thank you, Jay,” Nick replies brightly. He doesn’t let go of Jay just yet, doesn’t really see the point in it. "Of course, there's still quite a bit to sort out, work notices and sorting out train timetables and all."

"I can have my people sort it out, if you'd like," Jay offers.

Nick shakes his head. "No, it's fine, but thank you. I just feel like maybe it should be _our_ thing, y'know? And no one else's."

"Fair enough," Jay replies. "At least let me pay."

Normally, Nick would object, but he's not quite rich enough to splurge on stop-less rides and rooms with beds, and he does want Jay to have _some_ ownership over the trip. It shows he's invested.

"Offer graciously accepted," he says.

Jay's answering smile is so bright that Nick begins to think that maybe he should have let Jay buy him stuff more often.

* * *

A nice girl. Ha.

Nick stares at his ceiling, remembering the brief pang of pain that he’d felt in his chest when Jay had said those words.

Having feelings like this is...it’s a little like having the rug pulled out from under his feet only to discover that there’s nothing underneath, and now he’s freefalling. And, hey, the metaphor fits. Fail the mission, fail to exist.

Still. He hasn’t fallen in love yet. He might want Jay to want him, but it isn’t love. It can’t be.

The problem is, though, that the more that he thinks about it, the more that he digs into his feelings and tries to sort them out, the more confused he gets. Yeah, he wants Jay to be safe, but those are just the parameters of the mission, and yeah, of course he’d still want to spend time with Jay in the Firmum even if the mission didn’t exist, and yeah, thinking about not being able to see Jay after the mission puts him in a bad mood, but it doesn’t _mean_ anything. It can’t.

Nick tries to think of things that aren’t related to Jay, mostly just to try to distract himself, but he can’t. As Jay’s protector, literally every aspect of his existence exists as it is for the sole purpose of protecting Jay.

Maybe, he thinks in the last few moments before falling asleep, that that isn’t so bad.

* * *

Nick shows up at the train station half an hour early only to see Jay standing outside waiting for him with a suitcase at least twice the size of Nick’s own.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Nick says. “If I’d have known you were coming early, I would have left a little sooner.”

Jay waves him off. “No worries, Old Sport. I simply miscalculated.”

Nick watches him as Jay picks up his suitcase and hefts it over his shoulder. Despite his claim of miscalculation, Jay looks nervous. Nervous as in nervous-worries, not nervous-excited. Nick can’t imagine why this would be the case. Nick doubts it’s because of Daisy since Jay seems to be finally starting to accept her loss. It’s not like Jay has a whole lot of business in New York either that can’t technically be easily delegated to temporary seconds-in-command. Nick knows Jay’s done this because Nick had taken the time to independently vet each of the candidates himself.

“So,” Jay asks as they approach the ticket booth. “May I ask what the plan is?”

“I’ve got the timetables right here,” Nick says, reaching into his jacket to withdraw them. “I’ve circled our stops. Since you’ve so kindly offered to pay, I decided to opt for the more continuous options. Fewer stops should mean that we get there faster.”

Jay flips through the timetables. “It’s still a week’s trip.”

“Travelling all the way from the east coast to the west in a week was practically a miracle once,” Nick says. “Imagine perhaps one day the trains will get fast enough that we’d be able to make the trip in a day.”

Jay scoffs. “The only way it would take a day is if there was a single, dedicated, non-stop rail from New York City to California. No one would invest. It would never make enough money to stay afloat.”

“Can’t go fast enough to make up for it?” Nick asks.

“Might as well fly at that point,” Jay replies.

“Fly!” Nick exclaims.

“Just back in September, James Doolittle managed to make the trip from Florida to California in under 24 hours with only one stop to refuel,” Jay explains.

“World records rarely set precedent, I’ve found,” Nick says, knowing full well what the future has in store. “Planes have such a more limited capacity than train cars.”

“Well, it is the future, isn’t it?” Jay says. “That means we don’t know how any of it is going to go quite yet.”

“Right,” Nick says. “Could be fast trains.”

Jay grins and elbows him hard.

* * *

For the first leg of the trip, they’ve decided not to opt for beds, content to take window seats opposite a shared table.

“You know,” Jay says, after a few minutes of light conversation, “you never told me what exactly it is you want to see in California.”

“I think I’d quite like to visit Hollywood,” Nick says.

“Really?”

“Well, all the new movies have been coming out of there,” Nick explains. “Don’t you want to see how the magic happens?”

“I suppose,” Jay replies. “You just never struck me as the type to be interested in all that.”

Nick shrugs. He isn’t, but... “I mean really, you gotta go to these places at least once, even if you’re not a movie fanatic.”

“Fair enough,” Jay says. “Just Hollywood?”

“I’d like to explore LA as well, go to the beach, see the Sierras, maybe visit the orange fields,” Nick continues. “It’s a big state. There’s a lot to explore.”

“The orange fields?” Jay asks, his confusion evident on his face.

“Don’t tell me you don’t want to see the orange fields,” Nick says.

“Why would I want to see the orange fields?” Jay asks.

“Because there are oranges,” Nick explains, “as far as the eye can see.”

Jay stares at Nick incredulously but also, more importantly, well entertained.

* * *

Nick convinces Jay to share a room and, consequently, a bed for the second leg of the trip.

“The entire reason we’re both here is so that I’m not traveling alone,” Nick had pointed out. “Sure, space will be a little tight, but I, at least, would rather have your company than all the space in the world.”

Jay must have been in a giving mood because he’d accepted without a fight.

Of course, the bed was hardly large enough for two full-sized men, but there were always bigger things to worry about, and maybe being squished against Jay would help move the plan along.

They spend most of the day going back and forth between the passenger and dining cars. When they decide to retire to their room for the night, Jay digs around in his suitcase and presents Nick with a flash of moonshine.

Nick twists the cap off, takes a sip, and passes it back, savoring the way Jay’s lips linger on the mouth even after he’s taken his own drink.

Their conversation devolves a little from there. It’s largely Nick supplying funny stories that have been granted to him from the knowledge drop, but even with his perfect recall, he eventually runs out of them.

“How about you?” Nick asks, turning all of his attention back on Jay. He’s laying on the bed sideways, his legs hanging over the edge. Jay’s sitting beside him

Jay sighs and scoots further back so he can lean against the wall. “I have a confession to make.”

“A confession?”

“I...may not have always been truthful about who I am.”

“I know,” Nick says. “You’re secretly an angel sent down from heaven for the purpose of making me have fun.”

Jay blinks. “What? No. No, don’t be silly, I’m serious. I was born in North Dakota as James Gatz. My parents were farmers. I just always knew that I was destined for something more, so I left, ended up working with Dan Cody on his yacht. He was the first rich person that ever gave me the time of day. I learned a lot from him, learned to _be_ like him, at least in all the good ways. So you see? I lied about who I was because I wanted to seem more impressive. I wanted people to think that I was someone worth giving a damn about.”

“I mean, doesn’t that make it more impressive, though?” Nick says.

“What?” He looks down at Nick, and Nick can see his brows are furrowed in confusion.

“You started from practically nothing, and look how far you’ve come. You’ve built something huge, gained more wealth than most people will ever see in their entire lifetime. It’s _impressive_.”

Jay slides down the wall until he’s laying on the bed too. “Honestly, I thought you’d be angry.”

“I like to think I know you too well to get angry with you over something like this,” Nick says.

“Montenegro was real, though,” Jay says. “Just Montenegro. And I did go to Oxford, but I wasn’t properly enrolled, and I didn’t stay for very long.”

“I suspected as much,” Nick says. “Your stories were always a little fantastical.”

“And my money isn’t from pharmaceuticals. I’m a bootlegger.”

“That one I knew,” Nick says, and, at Jay’s surprised expression, adds, “It’s not like you’re very subtle about it. I’m honestly surprised the authorities haven’t caught up with you yet.”

“I’m paying most of them off,” Jay says, rushed.

“You’re paying them off?” Nick repeats incredulously and then snorts. “Of course you are. You know, as fun as they are, if you stopped holding those parties, I think you’d have enough money to live your life comfortably for the rest of your life.”

“Why would I want to do that?” Jay asks.

“I think you already know my first reason,” Nick says, and Jay’s expression sours at the indirect mention of the Daisy argument, “but also, sooner or later, some straight-arrow feds are going to show up, and I’ve gotten so used to having you around, I think I might die if you get arrested.”

Jay laughs. “Be serious. I’m sure you’d be fine without me.”

Nick throws out his arm and it lands across Jay’s chest. “I am being serious. I couldn’t even go on this measly little trip to California without you.”

“Uh-huh, I’m sure that’s what that is,” Jay says sarcastically, but he places a hand over Nick’s and squeezes it comfortingly.

* * *

Nick steps out of La Grande Station and out onto Santa Fe Avenue. The air is a little crisp, courtesy of the winter weather, but it’s nowhere near as cold as New York.

“I could get used to this,” Nick says when Jay joins him on the sidewalk, his larger suitcase slowing him down.

“Get used to what?”

“The weather. The lack of snow.”

“Don’t like the snow?” Jay asks, amused.

“Not when it blocks me into my house and prevents me from leaving,” Nick replies.

“I’ll send someone over to clear out a path for you when it snows,” Jay says like it’s already a given. “Say, have you seen a payphone around here? I’ve been handed the number for what I’ve been assured is an excellent automotive rental company.”

* * *

The city of Los Angeles is alive with the sounds of ongoing construction.

“Imagine what the city will look like in just ten short years,” Jay says as they breeze past a massive but still incomplete stadium. “It almost feels like we’re arriving before its time.”

“I hear the real estate business is booming right now,” Nick says. “You ever think about buying a house out here?”

Jay takes his eyes off the road for just a second to give Nick his patented Daisy-motivates-all-my-decisions look, but then, despite it, he shrugs and continues, “I haven’t, but it probably wouldn’t be an entirely bad idea to think about it. There’s a lot of potential here.”

Emboldened, Nick says, “Move out here, you never have to shovel snow again.”

Jay blinks and glances at Nick for about half a second, saying nothing in reply.

He doesn’t have to. For all its brevity, the look in Jay’s eyes had been so clearly conflicted and lost that Nick desperately wishes that there was some way that he could just get Jay to _forget_.

* * *

Nick raises his old Brownie camera, points it at a group of people he assumes to be actors, and presses the shutter button. While he’s winding the film up for the next shot, Jay comes over with some snacks.

“Anyone you’re familiar with?” Jay asks, handing a tamale over.

“Definitely not,” Nick says, pulling his camera back up and pointing it in Jay’s direction. “Just saw the cameras and assumed, you know?” He presses the shutter button when he sees Jay’s responding smile.

“Do you know _any_ actors?” Jay asks, stepping out of range of Nick’s camera.

“A few, probably,” Nick says. “The ones everyone knows.”

“I still don’t understand why you even want to be here,” Jay sighs. He unwraps his tamale and frowns. “You want to trade? This one’s pork.”

“Yeah, sure,” Nick says. He finds the nearest table to set his camera down so he can check his own tamale. “Chicken good?”

Jay nods.

“Anyways, I’m just here for a bit of fun, same reason I visit Coney Island, even if I’m not particularly invested in amusement parks,” Nick explains. “If you’re not having a good time, though, we can move on. I just thought all the glitz and the glamour might appeal to you.”

Jay raises an eyebrow.

“Come on,” Nick says. “You’re, y’know, you. Not to mention you already look like a movie star.”

This seems to catch Jay a little off guard. “I don’t think I have the personality for it.”

“I don’t think that’s important in this line of work,” Nick says. “I think it’s all about putting on a show, and you, sir, do that excellently.”

“Do I?” Jay asks.

"Do the smile," Nick says.

"The smile?" The corners of Jay's turn upward, but he looks more confused than anything else.

"You know the one," Nick says. "The _special_ one."

Jay frowns but then his face breaks into a smile brighter than the sun.

Nick's heart skips a beat. "Yeah! That's the one!" Nick beams and lifts his camera and takes a picture of it. When he lowers it again, Jay's smile has softened into something more amused.

“See, if I develop that and show it to people who don’t know who you are, they’d believe me if I claimed you were an actor.”

“I think that’s more of a comment on your trustworthiness than my appearance,” Jay says with a laugh. “Here let me.” He gestures toward the camera.

Nick hands it over and turns around to look at the gaggle of actors. One of them feigns fainting in a really overdramatic way. When he turns back around, he hears the shutter and finds the lens of the camera pointed directly at him.

“Not taking pictures of the actors?”

“Just thought that maybe you should be in a few photos too,” Jay says, setting the camera down on the table and shoving his napkin under the front of it, propping it up at an angle. He looks through the viewfinder, smiles, and stands up.

“A few?” Nick asks.

“At least more than one.” Jay plops down on the bench next to Nick and reaches for the shutter button.

“That isn’t going to turn out,” Nick says. “We’re probably too close to the lens.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky,” Jay replies.

The shutter clicks.

* * *

“Look,” Nick says, pointing over Jay’s head. “Orange fields as far as the eyes can see.”

“They’re just orange trees,” Jay replies. “There are orange farms in Florida too, and those are a considerable deal closer to New York.”

“I mean, I’d hardly travel all the way to California just for oranges, but I think it’s nice to visit since we’re already here,” Nick says.

“Weren’t the orange fields one of your selling points for why I should go on this trip?”

“Maybe so,” Nick says, “but you agreed to go on the trip, so apparently it worked.”

Jay snorts, but he’s still smiling.

“If you see a stand, stop,” Nick says. “I need to see if the oranges can live up to their reputation.”

* * *

"You know," Jay comments, "I was kind of expecting Death Valley to be a little less pleasant."

“I imagine it’s much worse when it’s not winter,” Nick says. “Didn’t the brochure say something about snow last January?” He takes a hand off the wheel and starts patting his pockets, glancing downward. “Hm.”

“Hey, hey, eyes on the road,” Jay says. “It’s right here, anyway.” He pulls on the corner of the brochure that’s sticking out of one of Nick’s pants’ pockets. “Yeah, January this year, they had some snow accumulation.” He whistles. “And apparently it can get over 100 degrees in July.”

“Dry heat though,” Nick comments. “How do you think it stacks up against New York’s humidity?”

“Hard to tell,” Jay says. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in that kind of dry heat. I know it was over a hundred when we were deployed. That’s got to top anything Death Valley can throw at us.”

“In Death Valley’s defense, we’re in a car. I imagine it would be quite a bit different if we were walking,” Nick says. “Hey, giant rock.” He points at a giant rock. “Anyways, if it’s already going to reach a hundred in New York, then maybe we _should_ come back next year, compare the two, decide for ourselves that the Valley of Death is a nice place to live.”

“You may have a point,” Jay admits.

Nick raises an eyebrow. “About spending your precious summer months _here_?”

“About coming back to California, sweating out the worst of the heat by the coast,” Jay replies. “I know you haven’t said it outright, but don’t deny that you were trying to get me to consider it.”

“I plead the fifth,” Nick says. “But you have a point. Maybe we _should_ come back. Excellent idea, Jay.”

Jay barks out a laugh and elbows him, light enough that he doesn’t swerve.

* * *

Nick pulls over onto the side of the road. “I think it’s time to get out the chains.”

There’s a thin layer of snow on the ground, but as they keep heading north, Nick knows it’ll only increase in volume.

“Guess we haven’t escaped the snow after all,” Jay comments.

“We’re pretty far up into the Sierras already,” Nick says, digging in the back seat for the chains. “You ever do this before?”

At Gatsby’s answering silence, Nick assumes the obvious. By the time Gatsby was rich enough to afford a car, he was also rich enough to afford people to handle it for him. Nick himself had at least had a few good Minnesota winters under his belt.

“I got it,” Nick says. “Don’t worry. Hop in the driver's seat. Make sure the car doesn’t move, and, when I say go, only go forward about an inch.”

* * *

Yosemite, with its tall cliffs and frozen waterfalls, looks stunning under a nice coat of snow. The Half Dome is lit up bright red by the sunset.

“It really makes me wish I could photograph in color, or maybe even just zoom in a little,” Nick sighs, lifting his Brownie and lamenting the complete lack of control over the lens. No luck. Still, for just $2, the Brownie was a veritable miracle.

“There was a man over there selling postcards. The art was quite realistic, I think,” Jay says. “I got a few, if you’d like one.”

“Ah, thank you,” Nick says, putting the camera back in its case. “Honestly, I don’t think this is the kind of place people like me were meant to photograph.” He gestures vaguely. “The scale of it all, I think that’s the kind of thing that you can only really experience in person.”

“It is quite something,” Jay says. “My dad used to tell me fairy tales as a kid—I loved them until I realized they were completely made up—this looks like something right out of one of those stories.”

“I think we got lucky with the season,” Nick says, reaching up to touch a frozen branch that’s glistening in the fading sunlight. “It’s quite ethereal isn’t it.”

“Yeah,” Jay breathes.

Nick stares at the scene before him for another minute, his gaze lingering on how the semi-frozen surface of the river catches the light. When he turns around to get Jay’s attention, he finds that Jay’s already looking at him.

They’re effectively slightly more than halfway through their trip. Yosemite is as far north as they’ll go.

Nick comes to the realization that he doesn’t really want the trip to end, and, if Jay’s slightly demurred attitude is any indication, he’s probably feeling something similar.

“You’re enjoying yourself, right?” Nick asks, walking closer and lowering his voice to keep the discussion private. “I know that I pressured you into coming, but I want to make sure that you’re having a good time.”

“I am,” Jay says. His slightly downcast expression brightens into something more content. “More than I thought I would.”

“Good,” Nick says. “Good, I’m glad.”

“And before you ask,” Jay says, “I will go with you on your next vacation.”

Nick laughs. “I wasn’t going to ask. I really just wanted to make sure that you were doing alright.”

“If you insist,” says Jay.

* * *

The trees go up and up and up, but the clouds hang heavy and low, obscuring their true height. Perhaps even more astonishing still is the fact that the diameter of each tree must be at least three times larger than Jay’s height.

“These are quite magnificent,” Jay says, touching the bark and marveling at how large its features are. “Have you ever seen a tree larger than this?”

“According to the brochure, they’re the largest living organisms on the planet,” Nick says. In his experience, the Heavenly Garden houses a few trees larger than the Giant Sequoias. Still, space being a relative measurement between Heaven and the Firmum makes such comparisons difficult, especially with his limited ability for perception as a Lesser Spirit. 

“I’d love to see what they look like from the top,” Jay says as he awkwardly snow-shoes over to where Nick’s standing in the clearing. “I’d also like to see what it looks like when there isn’t snow on the ground. I’m sure we’d be able to explore so much more.”

“You’re the one who didn’t want to rent skis,” Nick says. “We’d be able to get around quite a bit quicker.”

“You’ve skied before. I haven’t,” Jay complains. “I’d just as surely fall flat on my face, then we wouldn’t be going much of anywhere.”

“It’s similar to ice skating but less slippery, and you have more support,” Nick says. “There are ice skating rinks in the city that we can visit if you’d like. I can teach you.”

Jay grumbles. “I’d rather just come back in the summer when I can just walk.”

Nick grins and bumps their shoulders together. “Who’s the one planning our next trip now?”

“It’s only fair,” Jay reasons. “I came with you on this one, so now you owe _me_ a trip to California.”

Nick’s chest floods with warmth. “I don’t think there’s any ‘owe’ about it,” he says. “I’d go with you in a heartbeat.”

Jay’s answering smile is so wonderful that Nick forgets about the mission and why he’s even here in California in the first place and just _knows_ that he’d do it all over again just to see that smile for a second time.

* * *

After they leave the Sierras, they decide to take a more coastal route on the way back down to Los Angeles. There’s something incredibly fleeting about the time they have remaining like the trip’s already over and everything they do in these final few days is just part of the journey home.

They spend a night on the beach of some small town, watching the waves ebb and flow. The sun illuminates the ocean until it’s swallowed up wholesale by the horizon, but the gentle sounds of the waves persist through the night.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to stay in a place like this,” Nick says in the last few moments before they fall asleep. “I don’t even mean living here. A place like this deserves to be more than just a pit stop.”

Jay hums but doesn’t say anything in response.

Nick lets himself slip into the fantasy of just being an ordinary human, of what he might do if he were just Nick Carraway, where a substantive future with Jay in it was something that could reasonably exist. Still, such things are hard to predict and Nick’s not human, possibly never was, so he makes his best estimates and lets a little wishful thinking slip through the cracks.

But here on the beach, nothing feels _permanent_. If Nick had to draw up a comparison, he’d say it feels more like a waking dream, like, no matter what happens, the events of the day will never be written up in the history books and any memories of what happened will never be definitively classified as reality.

Here Nick feels oddly safe from the watchful eyes of Heaven, even if he truly never can be, so he takes a risk, reaches out, and pulls Jay closer to him simply because he wants to.

* * *

“Travelling this far on Christmas?” the ticket seller asks, handing Jay’s freshly stamped tickets over to him. “Emergency, is it? Late to visit family?”

“Just returning from vacation. We’ll be back before Christmas Day,” Jay says, accepting the tickets and examining them with a scrutinizing eye before handing Nick his.

The ticket seller raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything otherwise, already moving on to the next customer. The lines are long, full of people planning short, one-day trips that would get them back home before midnight.

Time, of course, was meaningless to Nick. Heaven attached no substantive value to dates, so Nick didn’t particularly care that he was spending the rest of the year in a series of trains.

Jay’s blasé attitude was a little less explainable, but, when Nick had suggested the time frame, he’d provided no resistance.

When Nick asked why, Jay had simply shrugged and said, “It’s just not the sort of thing you’re supposed to celebrate alone.”

For whatever it might be worth, even without much ability for proper celebration, at least Jay wouldn’t be alone this time.

* * *

Two days after Christmas, they pass the Continental Divide.

“Nick,” Jay says.

They’re sharing a room again, this one smaller than the last, though the bed is about an inch or two wider, cutting into prime flooring real estate.

They’d been swapping war stories, anything to pass the time, but had since lapsed into silence.

“Yeah, Jay?” Nick asks.

“Why did you invite me on this trip?” Jay asks. “I know you said it was so that you could have company, but I’ve been thinking about it, and it’s occurred to me that you might have done it for my sake.”

“Did I?”

“To be entirely honest, I’ve barely thought of Daisy this entire time,” Jay explains. “My entire life feels like it’s been rearranged, and yet...and yet I can’t bring myself to complain. Was that your intent when you invited me or did you really just need the company.

Nick sighs and turns to stare at the ceiling. “Honestly, I can’t explain it.”

“Nick,” Jay says, and reaches out, his hand catching the side of Nick’s face so that they’re facing each other. “Please.”

“I can’t,” Nick says.

Jay stares at him, his eyes wide and attentive like he’s trying to reach Nick’s thoughts purely through whatever expression is on his face. He must manage to read something, because in the next second, he’s drawing Nick in and leaning forward, firmly pressing his lips to Nick’s own.

It catches Nick so off guard that he’s responding to the kiss before his brain can even catch up, reaching up to pull Jay closer.

Nick wants to think of the mission, wants to think of how it’s now practically a success, how close he is to the finish line, but it feels wrong to bring work into this. All he wants to do is savor Jay’s presence, the feel of Jay’s skin against his own, and the soft, awed smile that Jay isn’t even fighting to keep down.

* * *

Nick’s divinity shifts in the middle of the night, and when he opens his eyes, he’s in the pure darkness of the Half-Space.

Nick frowns and looks around even though he knows such an action is ultimately pointless. No one in the Half-Space is ever physically there, which makes it a good place for direct Heavenly communication for more complex undercover situations like Nick’s own.

“Nicolas,” the Commissioner says, their voice booming out from everywhere at once. “You have failed the second addendum.”

Nick wants to protest but finds that he really can’t. Nothing quite clarifies your feelings like Heavenly judgement.

If he cared a little less about his ongoing existence, he might protest the existence of the second addendum in the first place, but he’d rather not be erased on the spot.

“The second addendum shall be replaced with a new addendum,” the Commissioner continues as if changing mission addendums was something that _happened_. “The original mission shall be extended until the length of a natural life.”

Nick feels something change deep inside him and realizes that he’s just been given the power to age. It feels odd and heavy, like some odd force is pushing down on his chest.

“The completion of the first addendum is recognized.”

The room floods with light, and just like that, the Commissioner is gone, and Nick is back in whatever dream he’d been stolen from.

A whole year of Heavenly radio silence and Nick hadn't even managed to get a word in. Great.

* * *

When he comes to, Jay’s nose is buried firmly in his neck. Groaning, Nick scrubs at his face and tries to figure out what the hell he’s supposed to do now.

He could just do nothing, at least for the time being. Nothing quite confirms that you’re in love like Heaven outright saying it to your face.

His new faux-mortality still weighs heavy in his chest, but the gentle warmth of Jay’s presence does a lot to alleviate the unease.

Later, when Jay wakes and goes to use the bathroom, Nick searches his suitcase for the Ars Goetia and finds the cardboard tube that he’s stored it in empty. Beyond everything else, it’s concrete proof that he was in the Half-Space, that the mission has changed, that he’s Jay’s protector, his mediocre, little, guardian angel for life.

Nick feels...oddly elated. He’s still struggling to process it, but, when Jay comes back in and pulls Nick into a kiss, Nick finds that he doesn’t really care.

* * *

As soon as they step out into the snow, Jay sighs and says, “How soon would be too soon to go back?”

Nick laughs. “If you want to be in California so bad, you know you can just move.”

Jay gives him a scrutinizing look. “You really were serious about all that, weren’t you?” he asks. “Back when we’d just arrived and you’d said that I should buy a home out there.”

“I meant what I said when I said it was dangerous for you here.” Nick shrugs. “Exact location doesn’t matter, though if it sweetens the pot any, it’s been said that Southern California is one of the best places for moderate weather in the world.”

“I’m sure I could also set up a thriving bootlegging business there, too.”

“Jay!” Nick protests.

* * *

“You were right,” Jay sighs. He’s holding the developed photos that Nick had taken during the trip. “That photo that I took of the two of us didn’t turn out at all. Though to be completely honest, I was expecting it to maybe be blurry and not, well, this.” He takes the photo out from the bunch and turns it in Nick’s direction.

Nick walks over and tilts the photo so that it’s not reflecting the light from the chandelier except the picture doesn’t change—the huge white splotch that’s taking up his side of the photograph doesn’t go away. He can kind of see Jay on the other side, though his visage is unrepentantly blurry.

“Do you have the picture that you took of me?” Nick asks.

“Yeah,” Jay says, turning back to the table and shuffling through the photos. “According to the guy at the photo store, it’s supposed to be this one.”

He props his butt up on the table and holds up a photo that’s so overexposed he may as well have taken a picture of the sun.

“The guy said that something like this would only happen if I was shooting directly into the light, but it’s your camera, so I figured you’d know better.”

Nick shrugs. “I’m no photographer. I don’t know why it would—ah.” Nick’s never thought particularly hard about what effect his divinity might have on film, but the nearly-white photos in front of him provide some pretty conclusive evidence.

“Ah?” Jay asks.

“I think I just realized why the photos turned out like that,” Nick says.

“And?”

“And what?”

“Why did they turn out like that?”

“Oh,” Nick says. “Visitors from outer space obviously.”

Jay nudges Nick with his leg. “No, really. Be serious.”

“I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you the truth,” Nick says. He puts the photo back down on the table.

“Tell me anyway?” Jay asks, pulling out all the stops that Jay knows Nick can’t ignore.

“How’s this?” Nick says, stepping closer to Jay. “I’m a bottom-tier celestial being sent from heaven to protect you, and apparently divinity doesn’t photograph well.”

Jay’s face breaks into a grin. “Alright,” he says. “Don’t tell me.”

“I’m telling you the truth!” Nick insists.

“Mhmm,” Jay hums. “It’s okay. You can keep your secrets.”

“Ah, whatever, I tried,” Nick says, pressing a kiss to the top of Jay’s head. “The rest of these turned out pretty well.”

“That’s because you took them,” Jay says. “You know what you’re doing.”

“Anyone can take good photos with the Brownie,” Nick says, starting to shuffle through the photos himself. “You just have to be familiar with the basic principles of photography—ah! There it is!” Nick pulls out the photo that he took of Jay. “Like I said, you look just like a movie star.”

Jay leans over to look at it. “I still don’t see it.”

“That's alright," Nick says. "I prefer the real thing anyway."

"God, that's cliché," Jay says. "That's how I know you're not a—" he gestures vaguely "—whatever it was you said you are."

“I didn’t actually specify exactly—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jay says cutting him off. “Honestly I might have believed you if you’d just said you were a guardian angel.”

“Technically those don’t exist,” Nick says. “And I don’t have enough divinity in me to qualify as an angel.”

“Nick,” Jay says, “adding in more information isn’t going to help.”

Nick sighs. “You’re right. It’s not like I can do anything to prove it. All Heaven did was give me the power to remember everything and age.”

“Age?” Jay asks incredulously.

“Well, yeah, I kind of have to grow old with you if I’m supposed to be around you often enough to protect you,” Nick answers.

Jay snorts. “You’re ridiculous,” he says and pulls Nick in for a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> And then Jay decides that bootlegging is overrated and they move out to California together.
> 
> Ars Goetia is real. See [here](https://www.sacred-texts.com/grim/lks/lks05.htm) for the list of demons. Navigate that page for access to all of The Lesser Key of Solomon, where the Ars Goetia is from.
> 
> I haven't gone over the fic word for work, though the lovely [flymetcthemccn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flymetcthemccn) did beta for me. I will probably go over it with a fine-tooth comb later, just to make doubly certain, but until then, feel free to yell my technical mistakes at me in the comments.
> 
> or yell other things in the comments. please do that. I'm lonely and I live off peer recognition and approval lmao.
> 
> unfortunately I did have to play it fast and loose with a lot of different stuff. phraseological anachronisms aside, please don't take any historical things I've written as fact without double-checking first. i was as accurate as I could be without spending undue hours on research, but some stuff that I've written may only have been possible if certain years were different. i have not knowingly included any false information, though I'm fairly certain tom's mansion predates both the nyc department of buildings and the requirement to submit building plans to obtain permits from the city. deeply considering making commentary + bibliography posts on dreamwidth lmao.
> 
> FUN fact, the only reason i'm southern california born raised and likely here to stay is cause my dad wanted to live somewhere with nice weather. amazing.


End file.
